sugar, and salt. Be sure to take a great plenty. West & Riley’s has the groceries. We have all the clothing and camp equipment.”
Mr. Potter rubbed his fist across his beard. “Let’s get started then.” He looked at his wife. “You select our clothes and medicines while Miss Lindberg shows me the supplies I need for the oxen.”
They left an hour later, their spring wagon loaded up the sides with necessities. Faith grinned at Rosemary. “Finally. I was afraid I’d never have a big sale.”
“If this wagon train is just forming, you’ll soon have many more customers.” Rosemary’s eyes moistened. “I’m happy for you, but I must admit to hoping you’ll never leave.”
“If you’d seen Grandpa this morning, you’d change your mind. He’s gone into his shell, just like after we got word about my papa and Maxwell. If I could, I’d take him away from here today.”
Rosemary tilted her head, an expression of pity on her face. “What if he doesn’t want to go?”
“Of course Grandpa will go. He keeps saying we have to sell the mercantile first. Now that business is on the increase, I’m sure we’ll find a buyer.”
But when Faith returned to the storeroom, Rosemary’s question echoed in her thoughts. The wooden crate she’d dragged to the far corner beckoned. She hefted a cast iron kettle over the edge, settling it on top of four blankets and a painted canvas cloth. Their supplies would be ready the moment they sold the mercantile.
Before going home at noon, Faith stopped at the newspaper office. “I have two advertisements for next week’s paper,” she said to Mr. Simpkins. She gave him the pages.
He fished his glasses from his coat pocket and read aloud, “Free piece of tea-leaf china with each purchase totaling fifty cents. Your choice. First come, first served.” He grinned. “So, if I spend two dollars, do I get four pieces?”
Faith nodded. “Spend ten dollars and I’ll give you the entire lot.”
Mr. Simpkins impaled the sheet on a spindle and read the second one. His eyes grew round. “You’re selling the mercantile? ‘Interested buyers call between the hours of nine to five.’ Does your grandpappy know about this?”
“We’ve discussed selling, yes.” Her heart fluttered at the half-truth.
“Well, I’ll be. Can’t imagine the town without Lindberg’s Mercantile. You folks made it through the war. Why sell now when things are looking up?”
“We’re going to Oregon.”
With exaggerated movements, he took several steps backward and flopped on his chair. “Judge Lindberg leaving. This is a front-page story.”
Faith gasped. “No. Not yet.” Grandpa had stopped reading the Observer after Papa and Maxwell were killed. Heaven help her if someone mentioned the advertisement before he’d given his approval. She forced a bland smile. “Wait until we have a buyer for the mercantile. Then you’ll have a bigger story for your paper.”
“I’m surprised you’d want to leave. I hear Royal Baxter finally made it back. You were right, no news was good news as far as those casualty lists were concerned.”
“We can’t make our plans around Major Baxter, or anyone else for that matter.”
He peered at her over the top of his glasses, chuckling. “You wouldn’t be the first gal to adjust her sights to suit a fellow.”
“I need to be on my way, Mr. Simpkins. Please let me know the cost of our advertisements at your first convenience.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He snapped a mock salute.
During the walk home, the truth of what he’d said broke through. Grandpa leaving Noble Springs was front-page news. She quailed at the idea that she might be wrong, then shook her head. She had to do something to help him. Oregon was the best idea.
Faith stepped into the entry hall. “Grandpa?”
“In here.” His voice came from the parlor.
She hurried to his side. “I brought your manuscript home. Thought you might change your mind about writing.”
He took the
Mr. Potter rubbed his fist across his beard. “Let’s get started then.” He looked at his wife. “You select our clothes and medicines while Miss Lindberg shows me the supplies I need for the oxen.”
They left an hour later, their spring wagon loaded up the sides with necessities. Faith grinned at Rosemary. “Finally. I was afraid I’d never have a big sale.”
“If this wagon train is just forming, you’ll soon have many more customers.” Rosemary’s eyes moistened. “I’m happy for you, but I must admit to hoping you’ll never leave.”
“If you’d seen Grandpa this morning, you’d change your mind. He’s gone into his shell, just like after we got word about my papa and Maxwell. If I could, I’d take him away from here today.”
Rosemary tilted her head, an expression of pity on her face. “What if he doesn’t want to go?”
“Of course Grandpa will go. He keeps saying we have to sell the mercantile first. Now that business is on the increase, I’m sure we’ll find a buyer.”
But when Faith returned to the storeroom, Rosemary’s question echoed in her thoughts. The wooden crate she’d dragged to the far corner beckoned. She hefted a cast iron kettle over the edge, settling it on top of four blankets and a painted canvas cloth. Their supplies would be ready the moment they sold the mercantile.
Before going home at noon, Faith stopped at the newspaper office. “I have two advertisements for next week’s paper,” she said to Mr. Simpkins. She gave him the pages.
He fished his glasses from his coat pocket and read aloud, “Free piece of tea-leaf china with each purchase totaling fifty cents. Your choice. First come, first served.” He grinned. “So, if I spend two dollars, do I get four pieces?”
Faith nodded. “Spend ten dollars and I’ll give you the entire lot.”
Mr. Simpkins impaled the sheet on a spindle and read the second one. His eyes grew round. “You’re selling the mercantile? ‘Interested buyers call between the hours of nine to five.’ Does your grandpappy know about this?”
“We’ve discussed selling, yes.” Her heart fluttered at the half-truth.
“Well, I’ll be. Can’t imagine the town without Lindberg’s Mercantile. You folks made it through the war. Why sell now when things are looking up?”
“We’re going to Oregon.”
With exaggerated movements, he took several steps backward and flopped on his chair. “Judge Lindberg leaving. This is a front-page story.”
Faith gasped. “No. Not yet.” Grandpa had stopped reading the Observer after Papa and Maxwell were killed. Heaven help her if someone mentioned the advertisement before he’d given his approval. She forced a bland smile. “Wait until we have a buyer for the mercantile. Then you’ll have a bigger story for your paper.”
“I’m surprised you’d want to leave. I hear Royal Baxter finally made it back. You were right, no news was good news as far as those casualty lists were concerned.”
“We can’t make our plans around Major Baxter, or anyone else for that matter.”
He peered at her over the top of his glasses, chuckling. “You wouldn’t be the first gal to adjust her sights to suit a fellow.”
“I need to be on my way, Mr. Simpkins. Please let me know the cost of our advertisements at your first convenience.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He snapped a mock salute.
During the walk home, the truth of what he’d said broke through. Grandpa leaving Noble Springs was front-page news. She quailed at the idea that she might be wrong, then shook her head. She had to do something to help him. Oregon was the best idea.
Faith stepped into the entry hall. “Grandpa?”
“In here.” His voice came from the parlor.
She hurried to his side. “I brought your manuscript home. Thought you might change your mind about writing.”
He took the
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